Category Archives: Poetry

Birds over Computer Fan

Posted on by
4

The rite of spring is singing louder.

Louder than my computer fan.

The blue jays are shouting.

The robins are talking over the fence.

The sparrows and chickadees are speed dialing.

 

This is the first spring in the country.

The window is cupped open.

My ears are too,

and the sounds send me back

 

to a dead end street of so much traffic.

Starlings would bounce from shrub to shrub.

Plump orange bellies would bow and pull up breakfast.

 

I could almost hear baby-blue

eggs cracking.

 

Oh how I miss my mother brooding over us.

 

 

© Gerald Allen Barrett and parentheticallyspeakingin3d, 2012.

Luci’s Shawl

Posted on by
8
Prayers of thanks as I wrap
the wholly crocheted words
around me. 
 
It’s cool in this writer’s
cave under the stairs.
Your tight and lose knots
rest easy on my cold shoulders.
It was back on May twentieth,
early in the morning that I
was invited into moving
words with needle swords.
You wield the points together,
changing the colors as needed
until floats cascade down
in mischief on the underside.
Then flashing would rise like an
Easter morning as you knot and
untie the fibers of vocabulary.
Any time I can pull out a poem
of yours like a loose thread and
it unravels me.
 
In Honor of one of my favorites
Luci Shaw 
 

>When

Posted on by
Reply

>

When butter melts into the toast
When a robin juts its chest out
When a five year old dimple speaks
When a classic guitar introduces “Blackbird”
When I hear Barbara’s voice on the end of the line
This is when the dust in the pan is forgotten
This is when the tides of life hush those of death
When the sound of machines are put into the closet
When outside the stars wink through the oaks veins
When silence is remembered and it shuts my mouth
When frost filled air settles on my burning eyes
When being still invites knowing
This is when the length of days is measured
Not in coffee spoons but momentary trances
and deep breaths of God

>Clive

Posted on by
Reply

>

He logically talked me
into a corner.
Then he staples me
with truth bound logic.
One would think a
word on charity
would be gentle
and freeing.
Simply set your self
aside and charity
will transform
any need-love.
He would lieu us
by grace in the
quatrain of loves.
But first we must
think it through
with a great Noch
of our heads.

I had forgotten how challenging his writing is at times.  I read some of The Four Loves this morning.